


Of Trouble With Humans and Fledglings

by eternalEnigma



Series: The Spellstone Chronicles [1]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: ??????????? - Freeform, M/M, Magic, Minor Violence, Slow Burn, Very Fucking Much a slowburn, Wings, fuck how do tags work uh, might get worse later, so far - Freeform, spellstone au, very minor? bare mention of a gunshot wound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 14:19:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12434607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalEnigma/pseuds/eternalEnigma
Summary: After living without his spellstone and therefore his magic for a full fifteen years, something unheard of for a mage like him, Zexion finally recovers it--but there’s a bit of a problem, and that problem is a fledgling named Demyx.





	1. Chapter 1

Zexion has been missing his spellstone for years.

Has been missing his powers, his _wings_ , for years.

And yet, he has not aged a day.

Not like he would have if the stone was truly lost.

That alone tells him that some other living creature must have it in their possession- some human, most likely, that found it and picked it up and has not put it down since.

Some human that _has_ to spend a huge amount of time traveling, for Zexion has traversed the world in the years since he lost it and not once has he felt the vibration in his soul that tells him it's somewhere close.

So it comes as a surprise when, one day, he wakes from the stupor that comes instead of sleep and feels deep in his core the call that's still intimately familiar even after years of silence.

His spellstone.

With instinct to guide him, he abandons his hiding place and begins his search anew.  


\---

Demyx has never been more lost.

Normally he's _good_ at remembering the paths he takes, but everything looks the same here, no glaring landmarks to keep track of.

Mist- or more likely, considering the altitude, clouds- curls around him, threading through the trees, making the situation worse. He can barely see fifteen feet in front of him.

He groans, and resists the urge to plunk down among the leaves and give up. Of _course_ this happens the one time he forgets his phone.

But it's not like there'd be any service, he admits to himself, looking again through the trees. He doubts there's a cell tower anywhere _near_ this place.

...wherever "this place" is.

He should've stayed on the trail.

It's just...

He shoves a hand in his pocket, running his fingers over the smooth, polished stone he's kept with him for what feels like forever. He wanted to visit the place where he found it.

Aaaand look where that got him.

Tired, and lost, and _sure_ he has enough food and water to last him for another few days but he'd really rather not have to use it up.

So when he hears rustling akin to human footsteps he takes his chances, and calls out, "Hello?"  


A long moment passes in silence, but then he hears, echoed right back-

"Hello?"

It isn't quite in his voice; it's a hair lower and a bit too smooth and decidedly unfamiliar, but the tone is an exact imitation, right down to the slight crack at the end of the word.

"Where are you?"

And again, an impeccable impression:

"Where are you?"

It's... a little disturbing. And really unhelpful.

"This isn't _funny!_ Who are you?!"

It's somehow almost mocking this time, though the echo is still nothing short of flawless:

"This isn't _funny!_ Who are you?!"

Demyx swallows hard. Whoever it is, he doubts he wants them to find him before he finds them. So this time when he calls out, he listens and makes an attempt to follow the voice.

" _You're_ not helpful at all."

Sure enough, he hears it echoed back- it's somewhere behind him.  


He turns, trying to keep his footsteps quiet, and keeps talking.

"Are you lost too?"

He takes a few steps forward before he hears the echo, and the source seems to shift somewhat to the right.

"I just wanted to find these cool ruins again. You know where they are?"

This time it stays stationary, and he starts again towards it.

"I visited them once a long time ago, and I've wanted to come back ever since."

The voice seems to move as it repeats the statement, a bit to the left this time, as if it's returning to where it was. As if it was just fidgeting.

"I found a really pretty stone there. It's a little weird- it's always warm."

But this time the voice isn't an echo, and it's so close behind him he could swear he feels the speaker's breath hot on the back of his neck.

"You have something of mine in your possession."

His blood turns to ice, terror freezing him so wholly in place he can't even turn to look. And maybe that's a blessing.

"Return it, and I may let you leave."  


\---

The human trembles, but doesn't so much as twitch otherwise. Strange that he wouldn't flee.

But, Zexion supposes, that just makes things easier.

"What- what do you mean?"

The first word comes out a squeak, and the rest are hardly better.

Zexion isn't quite sure what to make of the fact that such a _weakling_ held onto his spellstone for such a long time. It would have no true value to a powerless human, and _surely_ he couldn't have sensed more than the surface layer of power.

"That stone is _mine_."

With shaking hands, the human reaches into his pocket and pulls it out--and it's so beautifully _familiar_ that Zexion has to restrain himself from simply reaching out to snatch it away from him.

It shines in the low light, the snowflake patches nearly glowing with proximity now, and when the human doesn't move again Zexion takes that as his cue to step around him and- _finally_ \- take it into his hands once more.

Its call reverberates within him, shifting _something_ back into balance, and when he takes a deep breath he can almost feel his wings before he even thinks to summon them.

He turns and takes a few steps away, letting his eyes close as he revels in the power he feels returning to him.  


And he almost forgets the human, so entranced is he, until, faltering but incredible in its audacity--

"I...I gave it back. How do I get out?"

Wordless with irritation, Zexion clutches the stone to his heart with one hand and points sharply to the side with the other, knowing without looking the quickest way to leave the forest. It isn't the _safest_ , but whatever gets the human out of his presence...

He hears leaves crunch, the sound moving steadily away, and reaches deep within for the power he needs.

But before he finds it- before he can do so much as take back hisillusions- he hits a block. He can't absorb any more, or even let it circulate through him and back to the stone.

And immediately, he knows why.

" _Y̶̸͍̲̬̞͘Ơ̷̖̗̼̲̰̥U̡͔̞̖͠!͉͓̜̺_ "

His voice is a roar this time, pure magic summoned in anger painting his eyes a flat azure, and the human shrieks in alarm.

" _You bound what pathetic amount of magic you have to ̪̭̕͠ͅ **m̢̥͙͇͠͞y̷̻̠̫̰̼** s̶̤̱͓̤͙̩ͅt̳̞̙̦͠o͖̪̣̫n̡̪̝͍͇̳͔̬͠e̶̛̟̫̘͕̤͈͟.̴̯̼̺̳̱͕͕̱͕͡_ "

The human looks at him with wide-eyed terror, near soundless now in his fear but for the pitiful squeak he lets out when Zexion jerks him forward without even being close enough to touch him.

" _You aren't leaving ̴̞̭ư̸̸̼̲̖nt̫̹̻̜i͙̰̺l̛̹̝͡ͅ ̧̡̘̹̞͜I̵̢͏̣̣̮͉͇ ̷̰̥͜ **f̨̮̗̺ͅi̸̱̣̟̖x̞̖̤̜̤͕͖̣͠ ț̭̟ͅh̷̗͚̮͟i̵͉̻͔̥̲ș͕̯̪̖͟.̗̼̞̼͇͟͟**_ "  



	2. Chapter 2

The human is _annoying_.

He has not stopped fidgeting since Zexion released him, and now he's apparently gotten comfortable enough to start making noise despite his explicit instructions to _stay quiet_.

He _should_ reprimand him, but he doesn't bother wasting his breath or his time. Instead, he elects to continue reading--he _has_ to find a way to remove the outside influence from his stone, and he knows there's at least one in his collection of books--but before he manages more than a few more pages, he realizes that he's hearing something that he shouldn't be.

Water running.

That stream has been dry almost as long as he's been powerless.

He looks up sharply and sees the human sitting with his head tilted back against the only visible part of the wall, fingers twitching like he's itching to play an instrument, eyes closed in concentration as he hums some upbeat little song.

_He can't be responsible._

But there's no other explanation. The current water mage is not one for surprise visits, and has no way of knowing that he's returned; the surrounding area hasn't gotten much rain recently, and _definitely_ doesn't have enough ambient water magic to spontaneously revive a long-dead stream.

What's especially alarming about this is the simple fact that even the most gifted human doesn't have enough magical power to pull off such a feat. And considering that _he's_ the only reasonable explanation--well. The human might not be so human after all.  


He reaches up to touch the stone--it's strangely cold, almost _damp_ , against his chest, even through the leather pouch he keeps it in--and when he touches it directly he hears it. It's humming, a low resonant note not unlike the soft psychic call it gives off when it's more than a few feet away from him--or when he's using more than a little magic.

And the pitch of the note is perfectly in tune with the human's quiet singing.

Well.

This is most certainly a problem.

He stands, shutting the book in his hands with a _whump_ , startling the not-human into almost whacking his head on the bookshelf next to him, and steps over to his mirror.

"Let's see..." He mutters, and drags his fingertips left-to-right across the surface; ripples spread in their wake as though he'd touched water instead of glass and when it settles, he sees just what he'd expected.

Dim light, dust. Water dripping just at the edge of his vision. Not a single sign of anything living, and not a single sign anything living had so much as opened the door in months, if not _years_.

"Marea?" He asks the empty room, and when there's only silence he repeats it.  
Still, there isn't a sound in response. Just the water, endlessly dripping.

Shaking his head, he flattens a hand against the center of the mirror to clear it and then swipes his palm across the surface, right-to-left this time. Instead of ripples, a repeating pattern of delicate ice crystals spreads across the glass, and just as quickly as they appear they vanish. Now, rather than reflecting the bookshelves behind him or displaying a desolate, lifeless workspace, the mirror shows a brightly lit lab that has not changed a whit since he last saw it over a decade ago.

"Vexen. Are you there?" He asks, and it comes out in the hissing, inhuman language of mages; it's not entirely a conscious decision, but he doesn't bother correcting himself. Even if his suspicions are correct, the not-human won't understand it yet, and he'd rather that he didn't overhear.

"Zexion?"

The elder mage looks out from behind the overstuffed filing cabinet that takes up half the mirror, and when he sees that it really is Zexion his eyes narrow in irritation. "Zexion! Just where have you been? I realize that the years feel short but missing _fifteen_ is just the sort of nonsense I thought that _you_ were above."

"Vexen. I can explain that later. Right now I need to know--when was the last time someone heard from Marea?"

"Marea?"

Vexen scoffs. "You know full well how reclusive they are. The only way to know is to ask whoever last contacted them, and I've no idea who that might be. They didn't even attend our last gathering--but might I add, neither did _you_."

Zexion sighs, and refrains from rolling his eyes. The fact that Vexen responded in their language instead of one of the many others he knows is enough to make him be a bit more courteous. "I have reason to believe that they've passed on their gift."

_"WHAT?!"_

"Under some rather... _Unfortunate_ circumstances, I met someone who I originally believed to be human, but who seems to have control over water. He revived an underground stream that has been dry for thirteen years within twenty minutes of entering the vicinity."

"There _are_ humans with some degree of magical aptitude," Vexen retorts with a bit too much force, clearly shaken by the thought that one of them could have _died_ without a single other knowing, and Zexion interrupts before he can continue.

"I realize that. But if you'll recall, none have the power to perform an act such as that." He glances over his shoulder, and adds, "And do you see his expression? He knows he _should_ understand us. He recognizes the language. But he doesn't understand it, not yet."

Vexen can't exactly argue with that, but he tries anyway.

"But this is unprecendented! When one begins to fade, they _always_ inform at least one other of their successor! Do you not remember your own ascension? Fay told us ahead of time who to look for, and _that_ is why I was able to intervene in time for you to find your stone. It's simply impossible that even Marea would disregard the importance of that act in favor of maintaining radio silence."

"Well, that seems to be what happened. And you said it yourself--they're _incredibly_ reclusive. They may not have had enough time once they were injured, or it may have been so bad they _couldn't_ call for someone. But you can try calling them now. They aren't there to answer."

Vexen's expression grows pinched, and abruptly he closes the connection. No doubt to try contacting Marea.

The image in the mirror resolves back into a reflection, and he reaches out again to make yet another call. He can feel the mirror protesting already; he'd learned early on that the line of illusion was not the most social of the fifteen, and years of infrequent usage had made the most important of their heirlooms rather averse to heavy usage. Which was fine most of the time, as he fell right in line with his predecessors, but in situations like this? It's rather inconvenient.

"Don't _argue_ with me." He mutters, and draws his knuckles across it, from the top right to the bottom left. There's a moment's pause before the surface fragments, fracturing into facets like so many pieces of quartz, and then clears up.

The room he's looking at is dark and empty, just as Marea's had been, but the door on the opposite wall is cracked just enough to let in light, and he can hear the soft sounds of movement on the other side. So he just sighs, and resigns himself to yelling until he gets an answer.

"Lexaeus!"

Out of the corner of his eye he sees the not-human flinch, and he barely suppresses a snort. _A fine successor you've chosen._

"LEXAEUS!"

Still no response, and in the flattest tone he can muster Zexion begins reciting at the top of his voice:

" _Lexaeus_ , Mage of Honor and Earth, bless--"

"Zexion. You've returned."

Lexaeus too responds in the language of mages, but unlike Vexen's distracted reciprocation, it's because he noticed Zexion's 'visitor.' "Who is that?"

"I have reason to believe that not only is he Marea's successor, but that he has already ascended."

"Already-? Then it shouldn't matter what language we use in front of him."

"But he has yet to be told of his power. I daresay that he is still unaware of most, if not all, of it. Look: he can't understand a word we're saying." Zexion tips his head in his general direction as punctuation, and Lexaeus nods.

"But what makes you think that he's ascended? If any one of us had been with him to help him find his stone, they would have informed him of what was happening. So it stands to reason that if he _has_ gone through the ascension process and yet doesn't know, he should be dead. Unless he was exceedingly fortunate."

Of course it would be Lexaeus who realized that.

Through gritted teeth, Zexion says, "That would be correct. He had the luck to have _my_ stone in his possession at the time. I have been missing these past years because of his thievery."

Lexaeus hums in acknowledgement, brows knit in thought, and finally says, "A stone shared between mages... That is something that has not taken place in a long time."

Zexion crosses his arms thoughtfully, settling his weight on one foot. "Then you mean it's happened before."

"Yes. It isn't precisely _uncommon_ , though it seems so because of how long we tend to live. The last of those bonds was created when I was a mere fledgling, and because of its nature they faded together. That wasn't so very long before _your_ ascension."

Zexion nods, but before he can reply--

"Zexion! ZEXION!"

The image in the mirror flickers, for a moment transposing a semi-transparent Vexen over top of Lexaeus.

"What _is_ it, Vexen?"

He swipes a vertical line down the center of the mirror, splitting it so that he can see both of them simultaneously without getting a headache; it refuses to show anything but black on Vexen's side at first, but as he watches Lexaeus do the same it decides to cooperate.

"I _demand_ to know what's going on!"

Zexion takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. _I should have contacted Lexaeus first._

"As I just finished telling Lexaeus, my spellstone was stolen fifteen years ago. _That_ would be why I vanished, not because of some flight of fancy like you seem to think. Just today I reclaimed it, but I found that _this one_ \--who seems to be the original thief--had bound his magic to it. I had thought that, being just an average human amount of magic, it would be easy enough to reverse, but that is not the case." He sighs. Why _this_ , of all things that could've happened... "I already told you, he revived a stream within just a few minutes of being near it. That would have to mean that he's Marea's, and most likely that he's already ascended."

"Yes, and Marea doesn't respond to any sort of contact... I suppose you're correct about that." Vexen admits begrudgingly. "But you do realize what it means that he's bound his magic to _your_ stone rather than his own, don't you?"

"Lexaeus implied that there was a certain amount of importance to the act, but I'm not sure of the specifics."

He looks at their expressions, and decides that it's something he _really_ doesn't want to hear. But that just means it's all the more important for him to know.

"Would you care to enlighten me?"  



	3. Chapter 3

"Would you care to enlighten me?"

In response to his question, Lexaeus and Vexen share a look--which looks a little strange from Zexion's side, but that's a given--and then Vexen sighs.

"Well. Mages _have_  allowed a fledgling to share their stone in emergency situations before, though that's usually much more...temporary. But it's more often done for reasons other than that."

Vexen pauses, and looks to Lexaeus again, clearly rather reluctant.

"I haven't known you to hesitate before, Vexen. _What is it_."

It's looking worse and worse by the second. Anything that can make _Vexen_ clam up has to be significant.

"...You see, typically when mages decide to share a stone, it's to signify a strong bond between them. One that's very hard to break. And, accordingly, I have heard that it's exceedingly difficult to reverse it after it's lasted for more than a few days or so. It's meant to tie them together for life."

What.

"And we have no way of knowing for sure how long it's been since he ascended--even if we ask he may not know. But if I were to hazard a guess, I'd say it's long past that window of time."

_What._

"...So, until we are able to find out how to reverse it, I'm afraid that you are inextricably bound to him, and he to you, in much the same way as you both are bound to your stone."

"We are bound together." Zexion repeats flatly, the narrowing of his eyes the only sign of anger in his expression. "Elaborate."

(But he knows they don't really need to; he just wants, for once, for one of them to say that he's _wrong._ Because he can feel the bond, now that he thinks about it, and he can feel the fledgling's magic thrumming through it, can feel it twining and twisting with his own, and he hates what it implies and hates to think of what it might mean.)

Lexaeus interrupts before Vexen can do so. "Do you recall what I said about the last of these bonds?"

He doesn't even have to think to recall it, that little bit of information that makes everything fall into place.

"...that due to its nature, the two in question faded together. Do you mean to tell me that our very _lives_ are intertwined? That had this utter _fool_ managed to get himself killed, I would have faded without a clue _why?_ "

Lexaeus nods. "Hence why your situation is so unusual. The bond was formed without knowledge and therefore without agreement. The two of you couldn't have known what was happening, or indeed that anything _was._ "

" _Especially_ considering that he may well have been clueless about the entire ascension process." He makes an incoherent noise of frustration, more than a little reminiscent of Vexen. "How can it be reversed?"

"...That hasn't been done since before I ascended. If it _has_ been done. Vexen?"  
"I'm afraid it's the same for me. It _has_ been done, but a bond such as this being formed is _already_ rare, and one being dissolved is even more so." He pauses, looking thoughtful. "Of course, you know we're not _nearly_ the eldest of our kind. Perhaps you could consult--"

But before he can finish the thought, he's cut off by a loud _bang_ \--loud even through the mirrors, and that's saying something. Both he and the fledgling yelp in surprise, and Lexaeus flinches forward, his hands coming down hard on his desk. Zexion tenses; Lexaeus is not one to be _that_ startled by a sudden noise. Something else _must_ be wrong.

With an irritated grimace perhaps more befitting of a less severe issue than the sound of gunfire in his house, Lexaeus reaches back to feel at his shoulder. His fingers come away bloody, and for a long moment, there's silence.

Then the door behind him slams inward, and the last they see of him is bloody fingerprints on the mirror as he cuts them off.

There's another moment of silence as they stare in shock, and then Zexion barks, "Vexen, has he moved since I've been gone?"

"He hasn't. _Go._ "

The mirror goes dark for a brief moment, and when it clears it shows nothing but a reflection.

Zexion takes a measured breath and lets it out, and, drawing himself up to his full height, turns to face the fledgling.

"You saw that." It isn't a question, not really, but the fledgling nods anyway.

"Y-yeah. What's going on? Who--"

Zexion cuts him off with a flippant wave of his hand--no magic, but apparently he's so thoroughly intimidated him there's no need for any. "Then you know he needs help. We're going."

With a hand on his shoulder, he steers the fledgling towards the illusion-hidden door and up the stairs through the facade that keeps his home from being found, picking up the pace as they exit into sunlight.

"But there _is_ one thing you need to know right now."

He skims a hand across the fledgling's back, disguising it as a nudge forward, but the jolt of their magics brushing isn't nearly as sharp as he expects--it must be because they're intertwined within the spellstone.

The other yelps anyway, and cuts him off before he can continue. "What do you mean, _one?_ And why should I trust you anyway? You _kidnapped_ me, and now you expect me to just _follow_ you? I think I deserve an explanation!"

He digs in his heels and refuses to go further, and Zexion hisses out an irritated sigh. His protest is perfectly rational and they both know it.

"Fine, then. In an attempt to be short: do you recall a person named Marea? They may have visited you sometime in the past few years."

"Marea?" The fledgling repeats, clearly shaken by the mention of their name. "Yeah, I know them, how do _you_ \--"

"I'm a mage like them. Do you remember what they told you about themself? About _you?_ Because that has evidently already come to pass."

The fledgling blanches. "Then--they're--they're dead?! When?! No one-"

"Yes, no one came, I know, and had you not gotten extremely lucky your ascension would most likely have not gone well. Clearly no one was close enough to feel you inherit your magic, so if you hadn't had my spellstone--well. I have it for a reason-" he brings a hand to the pouch around his neck in emphasis- "And that reason is why everyone else has one as well. Suffice to say that since you did not have the resources to find yours, if you hadn't had mine things would not have gone well for you or anyone in your immediate vicinity.

That said, you're an unusual case, and we can discuss this further _after we ensure that Lexaeus is safe._ Now _think_ \--you have wings, and you need to use them _right now._ " Zexion finishes his speech not yelling but definitely at a higher volume than he'd like, and touches the fledgling's back once more; though this time he contains whatever noise he would've made, it's still clear that he's unused to feeling magic at all.

And he reaches through the bond that's been intensifying since he first felt it, and as he tries to summon his own wings he _tugs_ at what must be the core of the fledgling's magic and--

It works.

Zexion hears the fledgling gasp, more feathers than his own rustling as two sets of wings flare, one for the first time in fifteen years, one for the first time at all.

He glances towards him, giving them both a moment to adjust to their wings and taking it to look the fledgling's over.

The color of sand at the base, they fade into the creamy iridescence of seafoam and then into a vivid ocean blue, laced throughout with turquoise bioluminescence. Rather than feathers, they seem tipped with fins--translucent and soft-edged but distinctly _alive,_ unlike the smoky edges of Zexion's own or the icy transparency of Vexen's.

In other words, perfectly fitting for a mage of water.

"Now, let's _go._ "

Zexion abruptly turns away to continue on, not yet running but still hurried, and he doesn't even need to waste any more energy pulling the fledgling behind him--the bond does it for him, maybe, if it even works in that way, or maybe he's simply decided it's in his best interests to follow, but he does either way.

"I don't know how to fly!" He wails as they near a precipice, no less fearful now than he was before the explanation--understandable, considering what they're about to do, but _inconvenient._

Zexion puffs out a breath, half from exasperation and half from exhaustion, and snaps at him, "You don't need to!" and leaps.

His wings snap out and he dives, and though the fledgling shrieks in terror as he jumps he clumsily follows his lead.

And they dive, and dive, wind whistling in their ears as they hurtle towards the trees below, faster and faster until the air itself distorts and instead of crashing through the canopy they're back in open sky, high above a suburban neighborhood hundreds of miles away from where they'd been just seconds before.

Zexion pulls back, floating more than plummeting now; the fledgling catches himself rather less elegantly, flapping wildly as he orients himself a few yards below the top of Zexion's lazy spiral.

"What the hell was that?!" He shouts, looking incredulously up at him.

"A minor and rather conditional teleportation spell, courtesy of our mage of space." He doesn't mention the fact that with his lengthy absence, he hadn't been entirely certain the spell was still active. It was, and that's all that matters. "Stay up here or come with, whichever you so wish; I'm landing."

And he does, made invisible with half a thought, touching down silently in Lexaeus's back yard. A moment later, the fledgling does too, quite a bit less quietly but--he thanks his foresight--no less invisibly.

The house, though, is silent. So is the neighborhood, for that matter--it _is_ typically a quiet one, from what he remembers, but this is unnatural. _Scared._

Not a surprise. He doubts a place like this hears gunfire often at all.

But just as he walks up the back steps, Vexen throws open the door--full of frenetic energy as per usual but not panicked as he would be if something had gone truly wrong.

Zexion sighs, dismisses his wings, and drops the illusion.

(Most of it, at least; the fledgling doesn't have a clue what to do with his own wings, and there's no reason to risk them being seen.)

"What _took_ you so long?!" Is the first thing out of Vexen's mouth, and Zexion sighs again.

" _This one_ is an uncooperative fool." He spits out in their language, quite annoyed with him by this point, but makes himself continue more calmly in the one he knows the fledgling will understand. "So I take it he's alright?"

"He will be, no thanks to you two. Now come inside before the neighbors see you." Vexen huffs and marches back inside, expecting them to follow despite not telling them to.

Zexion rolls his eyes and follows, and the fledgling follows _him._ And bangs his wing into the doorframe.

" _Ow!_ How do I get rid of these now, anyway?"

"We'll help you with that in a minute--now, come inside, and _do_ try to be careful." He holds the door open, and as the fledgling walks all the way in he lets it close and drops the rest of the illusion.

It's almost amusing how tightly he's folded his wings in an attempt at keeping them from hitting anything else.

Zexion leads him through the house, a little thrown off by the rearranged furniture but still familiar enough with it, to the living room instead of Lexaeus's workshop just on a feeling.

He's right. That's where they are.

Vexen is busy now with bandaging Lexaeus's shoulder--it'll heal quickly enough, but that doesn't mean he'd like to bleed everywhere in the meantime--and there's no sign of the people who'd shot him. They'd probably left them downstairs in the workshop--taken prisoner, unconscious, dead, Zexion finds he doesn't much care which.

But he doesn't have long to muse over it anyway, because the moment he hears them enter the room, Lexaeus says without preamble, "They knew who I was. Outside of 'Lexaeus Abaelard, upstanding member of the community.'"

Silence--clearly Vexen's heard this already--and then Zexion can't contain an astonished, " _What?!_ "

"They knew not only of the existence of mages, but that I was one. And they claimed to have already killed another."

Like one, the three of them look at the fledgling; in a weak echo of Zexion's question, he squeaks, " _What?!_ "

"I imagine the one they killed was Marea." Lexaeus clarifies on all their behalf, "Them having faded does explain how you're here now. Especially because if they had those weapons or similar, and caught Marea while they were sleeping or working--"

"It wouldn't have been hard at all to murder them. _Damn._ " Zexion drags a hand over his face and sighs. "Do the others know?"

"Not yet. We were going to inform them shortly--as soon as we were finished dealing with _this_ situation." Vexen interjects, and, tying off the bandage, stands up. "And now that we are..."

"Go on.  We'll be here." Zexion says, and perches on the edge of the couch. A bit warily, the fledgling follows suit--his wings are gone, and Zexion wonders if he even did it consciously--and Lexaeus stands to, presumably, go with Vexen back down to his workshop and his mirror.

After they leave the room, there's a long few minutes of silence. And then, Zexion breaks it.

"I must apologize for my conduct." He says, begrudging but knowing full well it's in his best interests to do so if they're going to be stuck together. "I was unaware of all of the details of the situation and I see now that my reaction was unwarranted. So I do hope you accept my apologies."

"You _bet_ it was unwarranted." The fledgling mutters snidely, but then he sighs. "I guess I do, I mean... They didn't actually tell me about the stone thing, just the magic, so your little explanation helped a bit."

"I'm glad. And that aside, I must apologize again: I have yet to ask your name. What is it?"

For the first time, Zexion sees the fledgling smile. It's startlingly contagious, and before he can stop himself, he gives a reluctant little half-smile in return.

"Demyx." Says the fledgling, and, looking vaguely surprised with himself, continues under his breath with something else Zexion can't quite make out. It sounds like...

"What was that?" He asks-- _did he hear that right?_

"It... Feels right to say it like that." He says, and repeats himself. Louder, this time.

Confident, this time.

"Demyx, Mage of Intuition and Water."

**Author's Note:**

> A piece originally inspired by a prompt list, that has since spiraled out of proportion. The list is here: https://3ternal3nigma.tumblr.com/post/156783248172/write-a-story-including-a-set-of-three-things


End file.
